







Class PZ 3 - 

Book J 


Copyright N°_ 7 . 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


















































- 
















I 






J. Col©^ 



NewTorK 

Edward J.Clode 
19 07 



Copyright, 1907, by 
EDWARD J. CLODE 


Entered at Stationers’ Hall 


'f'L'* 

G^' 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 


APR 5 1907 

Copyright Entry 

■f, ' 1 ° 1 - 

CLASS ft XXc,i No, 

/7 So 13 . 

COPY B. 


CLASS 



The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“One who at heart was every inch a family 

butler.” Frontispiece 

PAGE 

“ Joe amused them with his stories and reminis- 


censes.” 25 

“ I ’m that strong ... I could lift that there pian- 

ner, if somebody would just give it a hoist — ” 36 

“ The dim light, the silent house, the spread table, 

and the empty chairs.” 50 

“Thieves at 50!” 64 S 

“ By the open cellar door stood Mrs. Wilson, and 

the cabman with her.” 82 




























































V 




• « 

























































J. Cole 

CHAPTER I 

r HAD advertised for a page-boy, and hav- 
A ing puzzled through some dozens of an- 
swers, more or less illegible and impossible to 
understand, had come to the last one of the 
packet, of which the following is an exact 
copy: 

“ Honnerd Madam, 

“Wich i hav seed in the paper a page Boy 
wanted, and begs to say J. Cole is over ther- 
tene, and I can clene plate, wich my brutther 
is under a butler and lernd me, and I can 
wate, and no how to clene winders and boots. 

3 


4 


J . COLE 


J. Cole opes you will let me cum. I arsks 8 
and all found, if you do my washin I will 
take sevven. J. Cole will serve you well and 
opes to giv sattisfaxshun. i can cum to- 
morrer. J. Cole. 

“P.S. — He is not verry tori but growin. 
My brutther is a verry good hite. i am sharp 
and can rede and rite and can hadd figgers, 
if you like.” 

The epistle was enclosed in a clumsy en- 
velope, evidently home-made, by the aid of 
scissors and gum, and was written on a half- 
sheet of letter-paper, in a large hand, with 
many blots and smears, on pencilled lines. 

There was something quaint and straight- 
forward in the letter, in spite of the utter 
ignorance of grammar and spelling, and while 
I smiled at the evident pride in the “ brutther” 
who was a “verry good hite,” and the offer to 
take less wages if “I would do his washin,” 
I found myself wondering what sort of waif 
upon the sea of life was this not very tall 
person, over thirteen, who “would serve me 
well.” 


J . COLE 


5 


I had many letters to answer and several 
appointments to make, and had scarcely 
made up my mind whether or not to trouble 
to answer my accomplished correspondent, 
who was “sharp, and could rede and rite and 
hadd Aggers,” when, a shadow falling on the 
ground near me as I sat by the open window, 
I looked up, and saw, standing opposite my 
chair, a boy. The very smallest boy, with 
the very largest blue eyes I ever saw. The 
clothes on his little limbs were evidently 
meant for somebody almost double his size, 
but they were clean and tidy. 

In one hand he held a bundle, tied in a red 
handkerchief; in the other a bunch of wild 
flowers that bore signs of having travelled far 
in the heat of the sun, their blossoms hanging 
down, dusty and fading, and their petals 
dropping one by one on the ground. 

“Who are you, my child?” I said, “and 
what do you want?” 

At my question the boy placed his flowers 
on my table, and, pulling off his cap, made a 
queer movement with his feet, as if he were 


6 


J . COLE 


trying to step backwards with both at once, 
and said, in a voice so deep that it quite 
startled me, so strangely did it seem to belong 
to the size of the clothes, and not the wearer: 

“Please ’m, it’s J. Cole; and I’ve come to 
live with yer. I’ve brought all my clothes, 
and everythink.” 

For the moment I felt a little bewildered, 
so impossible did it seem that the small speci- 
men of humanity before me was actually in- 
tending to enter anybody’s service, he looked 
so childish and wistful; yet a certain honesty 
of purpose shining out of those big, wide-open 
eyes interested me in him, and made me want 
to know more about him. 

“You are very small to go into service,” I 
said, “ and I am afraid you could not do the 
work I should require; besides, you should 
have waited to hear from me, and then 
have come to see me, if I wanted you to 
do so.” 

“Yes, I know I’m not very big,” said the 
boy, nervously fidgeting with his bundle, 
“leastways not in hite, but my arms is that 


J . COLE 


7 


long, they’ll reach ever so ’igh above my ’ed, 
and as for bein’ strong, you should jest see me 
lift my father’s big market basket when it’s 
loaded with ’taters, or wotever is for market, 
and I ’ope you’ll not be angry because I 
come to-day; but Dick — that’s my brutther 
Dick — he says, ‘ You foller my advice, Joe,’ 
he says, ‘and go arter this ’ere place, and 
don’t let no grass grow under your feet; I 
knows what it is goin’ arter places, there’s 
such lots a fitin’ after ’em that if you lets so 
much as a ’our go afore yer looks ’em up, 
there’s them as slips in fust gets it, and wen 
yer goes to the door they opens it and sez, 
“It ain’t no use, boy, we’re sooted,” and then 
where are yer, I’d like to know?’ ‘So,’ sez 
he, ‘Joe, you look sharp and go, and maybe 
you’ll get it.’ So I come, mum, and please, 
that’s all.” 

“But about your character, my boy,” I 
said. “You must have somebody to speak 
for you, and say you’re honest, and what you 
are able to do. I always want a good char- 
acter with my servants; the last page-boy I 


8 


J . COLE 


had brought three years’ good character from 
his former situation.” 

“Lor!” said Joe, with a serious look, “did 
he stay three years in a place afore he come to 
you ? Wotever did he leave them people for, 
where he were so comfortable? If I stay 
with you three years, you won’t catch me a 
leavin’ yer, and goin’ somewheres else. Wot 
a muff that chap was!” 

I explained that it did not always depend 
on whether a servant wanted to stay or not, 
but whether it suited the employers to keep 
him. 

“P’raps he did somethin’, and they give ’im 
the sack,” murmured Joe; “he was a flat!” 

“But about this character of yours,” I said; 
“ if I decide to give you a trial, although I am 
almost sure you are too small, and won’t do, 
where am I to go for your character? Will 
the people where your brother lives speak for 
you?” 

“Oh, yes!” cried the little fellow, his 
cheeks flushing; “I know Dick’ll arsk ’em to 
give me a caricter. Miss Edith, I often 


J . C O L E 9 

cleaned ’er boots. Once she come ome in 
the mud, and was agoin’ out agin directly; 
and they was lace-ups, and a orful bother to 
do up even; and she come into the stable-yard 
with ’er dog, and sez: ‘Dick, will you chain 
Tiger up, and this little boy may clean my 
boots if he likes, on my feet?’ So I cleaned 
’em, and she giv me sixpence: and after that, 
when the boots come down in the mornin’, I 
got Dick always to let me clean them little 
boots, and I kep’ ’em clean in the insides, like 
the lady’s maid she told me not to put my 
’ands inside ’em if they was black. Miss 
Edith, she’ll giv me a caricter, if Dick arsks 
’er.” 

Just then the visitors’ bell rang, so I sent 
my would-be page into the kitchen to wait 
until I could speak to him again, and told him 
to ask the cook to give him something to eat. 

“Here are your flowers,” I said, “take them 
with you.” 

He looked at me, and then, as if ashamed of 
having offered them, gathered them up in his 
hands, and with the corner of the red hand- 


10 


J . COLE 


kerchief wiped some few leaves and dust- 
marks off my table, saying in a low voice — 
“I didn’t know you ’ad beauties of yer own, 
like them in the glass pots, but I’ll giv ’em to 
the cook.” So saying, he went away into the 
kitchen, and my visitors came in. 

The weather was very warm, and we sat 
chatting and enjoying the shade of the trees 
by the open French window. Presently, some- 
body being thirsty, I suggested lemonade and 
ice, and I offered strawberries, and (if possible) 
cream, though my mind misgave me as to the 
latter delicacy, for we had several times been 
obliged to do without some of our luxuries if 
they entailed “fetching ” as we had no boy to 
run errands quickly on an emergency. How- 
ever, I rang the bell, and when the housemaid, 
whose temper was most trying since she had 
been what is curiously termed in servants’- 
hall language “single-handed,” entered, I 
said, “Make some lemonade, Mary, and ask 
Cook to gather some strawberries quickly, and 
bring them, with cream.” 

Mary looked at me as much as to say, 


J . COLE 


11 


“Well, I’m sure! and who’s to do it all? 
You’ll have to wait a bit.” I knew we should 
have to wait, and therefore resigned myself 
to do so patiently, keeping up the ball of 
gossip, and wondering if a little music later 
on would, perhaps, while away the time. 

Much to my amazement, in less than a 
quarter of an hour Mary entered with the 
tray all prepared, and directly I looked 
at the strawberry-bowl I detected a novel 
feature in the decoration. A practiced hand 
had evidently been at work; but whose? 
Mary was far too matter-of-fact a person. 
Food, plates, knives and forks, glasses, and a 
cruet-stand were all she ever thought neces- 
sary; even for a centre vase of flowers I had 
to ask, and often to insist upon having, during 
the time she was single-handed. 

But here was my strawberry-bowl, a pretty 
one even when unadorned, with its pure white 
porcelain stem entwined with a wreath of blue 
convolvulus and a spray of white, the petals 
just peeping over the edge of the bowl and 
resting near the luscious red fruit; the cream- 


12 


J . COLE 


jug, also white, had twining flowers of blue; 
round the lemonade- jug, of glass, was a 
wreath of yellow blossoms. 

“How exquisite!” we exclaimed. “What 
fairy could have bestowed such a treat to our 
eyes and delight to our sense of the beautiful ?” 

I supposed some friend of the cook’s or 
Mary’s had been taking lessons in the art of 
decoration, and had given us a specimen. 

Soon after my friends had gone, I thought 
of J. Cole waiting to be dismissed, and sent 
for him. 

Cook came in, and with a preliminary 
“Ahem!” which I knew of old meant, “I 
have an idea of my own, and I mean to get it 
carried out,” said, “Oh, if you please ’m, if I 
might be so bold, did you think serious of 
engagin’ the boy that’s waitin’ in the kitchen ? ” 

“Why do you ask, Cook?” I said. 

“Well, ma’am,” she replied, trying to hide 
a laugh, “of course it’s not for me to presume, 
— but if I might say a word for him, I think 
he’s the very handiest and the sharpest one 
we’ve ever had in this house, and we’ve had a 


J . COLE 


13 


many, as you know. Why, if you’d only have 
seen him when Mary come in in her tantrums 
at ’aving to get the tray single-handed, and 
begun a-grumblin’ and a-bangin’ things about, 
as is her way, being of a quick temper, though, 
as I tells her, too slow a-movin’ of herself. 
As I were a-sayin’, you should have seen that 
boy. If he didn’t up and leave his bread and 
butter and mug of milk, as he was a-enjoyin’ 
of as ’arty as you like, and, ‘Look ’ere,’ says 
he, ‘give me the jug. I’ll make some fine 
drink with lemons. I see Dick do it often up 
at his place. Giv’ me the squeezer. Wait till 
I washes my ’ands. I won’t be a minnit.’ 
Then in he rushes into the scullery, washes 
his hands, runs back again in a jiffy. ‘Got 
any snow sugar? I mean all done fine like 
snow.’ I gave it him; and, sure enough, his 
little hands moved that quick, he had made 
the lemonade before Mary would have 
squeezed a lemon. ‘Where do yer buy the 
cream?’ he says next. ‘I’ll run and get it 
while you picks the strawberries.’ Perhaps 
it wasn’t right, me a trustin’ him, being a 


14 


J . COLE 


stranger, but he was that quick I couldn’t 
say no. Up he takes the jug, and was off; 
and when I come in from the garden with the 
strawberries, if he hadn’t been and put all 
them flowers on the things. He begs my 
pardon for interfering like, and says, ‘I ’ope 
you’ll excuse me a-doin’ of it, but the woman 
at the milk-shop said I might ’av ’em; and I 
see the butler where Dick lives wind the 
flowers about like that, and ’av ’elped ’im 
often; and, please, I paid for the cream, 
because I’d got two bob of my own, Dick giv’ 
me on my birthday. Oh, I do ’ope, Mrs. 
Cook,’ he says, ‘that the lady’ll take me; I’ll 
serve ’er well, I will, indeed’; and then he 
begins to cry and tremble, poor little chap, 
for he’d been running about a lot, and never 
eaten or drank what I gave him, because he 
wanted to help, and it was hot in the kitchen, 
I suppose, and he felt faint like, but there he 
is, crying; and just now, when the bell rung, 
which was two great big boys after the place, 
he says, ‘Oh, please say “We’re sooted,” and 
ask the lady if I may stay.’ So, I’ve taken 


J . COLE 


15 


the liberty, ma’am,” said Cook, “for some- 
how I like that little chap, and there’s a deal 
in him, I do believe.” 

So saying, Cook retired, and, in a moment, 
J. Cole stood in her place, the blue eyes brim- 
ming over with tears, and an eager anxiety as 
to what his fate would be making his poor 
little hands clutch at his coat sleeves and his 
feet shuffle about so nervously that I had not 
the courage to grieve him by a refusal. 

“Well, Joseph,” I said, “I have decided to 
give you a month’s trial. I shall write to the 
gentleman who employs your brother, and if 
he speaks well of you, you may stay.” 

“And may I stay now, please?” he said. 
“May I stay before you gets any answer to 
your letter to say I’m all right? I think 
you’d better let me; there ain’t no boy; and 
Mrs. Cook and Mary’ll ’av a lot to do. I can 
stay in the stable, if you don’t like to let me 
be in the house, afore you writes the letter.” 

“No, Joe,” I replied, “you may not be a 
good, honest boy, but I think you are, and 
you may stay here. Now, go back to Mrs. 


16 


J . COLE 


Wilson and finish your milk, and eat some- 
thing more, if you can ; then have a good rest 
and a wash ; they will show you where you are 
to sleep, and at dinner this evening I shall see 
if you can wait at table.” 

“Thank you very kindly,” said the boy, 
his whole face beaming with delight, “and 
I’ll be sure and do every think I can for you.” 
Then he went quickly out of the room, for I 
could see he was quite overcome, now that 
the uncertainty was over. 

Alone once more, I reasoned with myself, 
and felt I was doing an unwise thing. Just 
at that time my husband was away on busi- 
ness for some months, and I had no one to 
advise me, and no one to say me nay either. 
My conscience told me my husband would 
say, “We cannot tell who this boy is, where 
he has lived, or who are his associates ; he may 
be connected with a gang of thieves for what 
we know to the contrary. Wait, and have 
proper references before trusting him in the 
house.” And he would be right to say so to 
me, but not every one listens to conscience 


J. COLE 17 

when it points the opposite way to incli- 
nation. 

Well, J. Cole remained, and when I entered 
the dining-room, to my solitary dinner, he 
was there, with a face shining from soap and 
water, his curls evidently soaped too, to make 
them go tidily on his forehead. The former 
page having left his livery jacket and trousers, 
Mary had let Joe dress in them, at his earnest 
request, and she told me afterwards that he 
had sewed up the clothes in the neatest manner 
wherever they could be made smaller. The 
effect of the jacket, which he had stuffed out 
in the chest with hay, as we discovered by the 
perfume, was very droll. He had a great 
love of bright colors, and the trousers being 
large, showed bright red socks; the jacket 
sleeves being much too short for the long 
arms, of which he was so proud, displayed 
the wristbands of a vivid blue flannel shirt. 

I was alone, so I could put up with this droll 
figure at my elbow. The seriousness of his 
face, however, was such a contrast to the 
comicality of the rest of him, that I found 


18 


J . COLE 


myself beginning to smile every now and then, 
but directly I saw the earnest eyes on me, I 
felt obliged to become grave at once. 

I could not pronounce the w T aiting at table 
exactly a success, for although Joe’s quick 
eyes detected in an instant if I wanted any- 
thing, his anxiety to be “first in the field,” 
and give Mary no chance of instructing him 
in his duties, made him collide against her 
more than once in his hasty rushes to the side- 
board and back to my elbow with the dishes; 
these he generally handed to me long before 
he reached the table, his long arms enabling 
him to reach me with his hands while he was 
yet some distance away, and often on the 
wrong side. I also noticed when I wanted 
water that he lifted the water bottle on high, 
and poured as though it was something re- 
quiring a “head.” Mary nearly caused a 
catastrophe at that moment by frowning at 
him, and saying, sotto voce , “Whatever are 
you doing? Is that the way to pour out 
water? It ain’t hale, stoopid!” 

Joe’s face became scarlet, and to hide his 


J . C O L E 19 

confusion he seized a dish-cover, and went 
hastily out of the room with it, returning in a 
moment pale and serious, as became one who 
at heart was every inch a family butler with 
immense responsibilities. 

Joe was quiet and sharp, quick and intelli- 
gent, but I could see he was quite new to 
waiting at table. To remove a dish was, I 
noticed, his greatest dread, and it amused 
me to see the cleverness with which he man- 
aged to have Mary do that part of the duty. 

When only my plate and a dish remained 
to be cleared away, he would slowly draw 
near as I got .towards the last morsel, and 
before Mary had time he would take my plate 
and go quite slowly to the side-board with it, 
leisurely remove the knife and fork, watching 
meanwhile in the mirror to see if Mary was 
about to take the dish away; if not he would 
take something outside, or bring a decanter, 
and ask if I wanted wine. 

I was, however, pleased to find him no 
more awkward, as I had feared he would be, 
and when having swept the grate and placed 


20 


J . COLE 


my solitary wine-glass and dessert-plate on 
the table, he retired, softly closing the door 
after him, I felt I should make something of 
J. Cole, and hoped his character would be 
good. 




CHAPTER II 

'T'HE next morning, a tastefully- arranged 
vase of flowers in the centre of the 
breakfast-table, and one magnificent rose 
and bud by my plate, were silent but eloquent 
appeals to my interest on behalf of my would- 
be page. When Joe himself appeared, fresh 
from an hour’s self-imposed work in my 
garden, I saw he had become quite one of the 
family, for Bogie, my little terrier, usually 
very snappish to strangers, and who consid- 
ered all boys as his natural enemies, was 

leaping about his feet, evidently asking for 
21 


22 


J . COLE 


more games, and our old magpie was perched 
familiarly on his shoulder. 

“Good-morning, Joe,” I said. “You are 
an early riser, I can see, by the work you have 
already done in the garden.” 

“Why, yes,” replied Joe, blushing, and 
touching an imaginary cap; “I’m used to 
bein’ up. There was ever so much to do of 
a mornin’ at ’ome; and I ’ad to ’elp father 
afore I could go to be with Dick, and I was 
with Dick a’most every mornin’ by seven, and 
a good mile and a arf to walk to ’is place. 
Shall I bring in the breakfust, mum ? Mary’s 
told me what to do.” 

Having been given permission, Joe set to 
work, this time without any help. I actually 
trembled when I saw him enter with a tray 
containing all things necessary for my morn- 
ing meal, he looked so over- weighted ; but he 
was quite equal to it as far as landing the tray 
safely on the side-board was concerned. But, 
alas! then came the ordeal; not one thing did 
poor Joe know where to place, and he stood 
with the coffee-pot in his hand, undecided 


J . COLE 


23 


whether to place it in front of me, or at the 
end of the table, or whether he was to pour 
out my coffee for me. 

I saw he was getting very nervous, so took 
it from him, and in order to put him at his 
ease, I remarked: 

“I think perhaps I had better show you, 
Joe, just for once, how I like my breakfast 
served, for every one has little ways of their 
own, you know, and you will try to do it my 
way when you know how I like it, won’t you ?” 

Thereupon I arranged the dishes, etc., for 
him, and his big eyes followed my every 
movement. The blinds wanted pulling down 
a little presently, and then I began to realize 
one of the drawbacks in having such a very 
small boy as page. Joe saw that the sun’s 
rays were nearly blinding me, and wanted to 
shut them out, but on attempting to reach the 
tassel attached to the cord, he found it was 
hopelessly beyond his reach. In vain were 
the long arms stretched to their utmost, till 
the sleeves of the ex-page’s jacket retreated 
almost to Joe’s elbows, but no use. 


24 


J . COLE 


I watched, curious to see what he would do. 

“ Please ’m, might I fetch an ’all chair?” 
said Joe, “I’m afraid I’m not big enuf to 
reach the tossle, but I won’t pull ’em up so 
’igh to-morrow.” 

I gave permission, and carefully the chair 
was steered among my tables and china pots. 
Then Joe mounted, and by means of rising 
on the tips of his toes he was able to accom- 
plish the task of lowering the blinds. 

I noticed at that time that Joe wore bright 
red socks, but I little thought what a shock 
those bright-colored hose were to give me 
later on under different circumstances. 

That evening I had satisfactory letters re- 
garding Joe’s character, and by degrees he 
became used to his new home, and we to him. 
His quaint sayings and wonderful love of the 
truth, added to extreme cleanliness, made 
him welcome in the somewhat exclusive circle 
in which my housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, 
reigned supreme. 

Many a hearty burst of laughter came to 
me from the open kitchen-window across the 



















































































« • 





J . COLE 


25 


garden in the leisure hour, when the servants’ 
tea being over, they sat at work, while Joe 
amused them with his stories and remi- 
niscences of the sayings and doings of his 
wonderful brother Dick. 

This same Dick was evidently the one 
being Joe worshipped on earth, and to keep 
his promises to Dick was a sacred duty. 

“You don’t know our Dick, Mrs. Wilson,” 
said Joe, to the old housekeeper; “if you did, 
you’d understand why I no more dare go 
agen wot Dick told me, than I dare put my 
’and in that ’ere fire. When I were quite a 
little chap, I took some big yaller plums once, 
out of one of the punnits father was a-packin’ 
for market, and I eat ’em. I don’t know to 
this ’our wot made me take them plums, but I 
remember they were such prime big uns, big 
as eggs they was, and like lumps of gold, with 
a sort of blue shade over ’em. Father were 
very partikler about not ’avin’ the fruit 
’andled and takin’ the bloom off, and told me 
to cover ’em well with leaves. It was a 
broilin’ ’ot day, and I was tired, ’avin’ been 


26 


J . COLE 


stoopin’ over the baskits since four in the 
morning, and as I put the leaves over the 
plums I touched ’em; they felt so lovely and 
cool, and looked so juicy-like, I felt I must 
eat one, and I did; there was just six on ’em, 
and when I’d bin and eat one, there seemed 
such a empty place left in the punnit, that I 
knew father’d be sure to see it, so I eat ’em 
all, and then threw the punnit to one side. 
Just then, father comes up an says, ‘Count 
them punnits, Dick! there ought to be forty 
on ’em. Twenty picked large for Mr. Moses, 
and twenty usuals for Marts!’ — two of our 
best customers they was. Well, Dick, he 
counts ’em, and soon misses one. ‘Thirty- 
eight, thirty-nine,’ he sez, and no more; ‘but 
’ere’s a empty punnit,’ he sez. I was stand- 
ing near, feelin’ awful, and wished I’d said I’d 
eat the plums afore Dick begun to count ’em, 
but I didn’t, and after that I couldn’t. ‘ Joe!’ 
sez Dick, ‘I wants yer! ’Ow come this 
empty punnit ’ere, along of the others ? 
There’s plums bin in it, I can see, ’cos it’s not 
new. Speak up, youngster!’ I looked at 


J . COLE 


27 


Dick’s face, Mrs. Wilson, and his eyes seemed 
to go right into my throat, and draw the truth 
out of me. ‘Speak up,’ he sez, a-gettin’ cross; 
‘if you’ve prigged ’em, say so, and you’ll get 
a good hidin’ from me, for a-doin’ of it; but 
if you tells me a lie , you’ll get such a hidin’ 
for that as ’ll make you remember it all your 
life; so speak up, say you did it, and take 
your hidin’ like a brick, and if you didn’t prig 
’em, say who did, ’cos ’you must ’av’ seen 
’em go.’ 

“I couldn’t do nothin’, Mrs. Wilson, but 
keep my ’ed down, and blubber out, ‘Please, 
Dick, I eat ’em.’ 

“‘Oh, you did, yer young greedy, did yer,’ 
he sez; ‘I’m glad yer didn’t tell me a lie. 
I’ve got to giv’ yer a hiding, Joe; but giv’ us 
yer ’and, old chap, first, and mind wot I sez 
to yer: “ Own up to it, wotever you do ,” and 
take your punishment; it’s ’ard to bear, but 
when the smart on it’s over yer forgets it; but 
if yer tells a lie to save yerself, yer feels the 
smart of that always; yer feels ashamed of 
yerself whenever yer thinks of it.’ And then 


28 


J . COLE 


Dick give me a thrashin’ he did, but I never 
’offered or made a row, tho’ he hit pretty ’ard. 
And, Mrs. Wilson, I never could look in 
Dick’s face if I told a lie, and I never shall 
tell one, I ’ope, as long as ever I live. You 
should just see Dick, Mrs. Wilson, he is a 
one-er, he is.” 

“Lor bless the boy,” said Mary, the house- 
maid; “why, if he isn’t a-cryin’ now. What- 
ever’s the matter ? One minnit you’re makin’ 
us larf fit to kill ourselves, and then you’re 
nearly makin’ us cry with your Dick, and your 
great eyes runnin’ over like that. Now get 
away, and take the dogs their supper, and see 
if you can’t get a bit of color in your cheeks 
before you come back.” 

So off Joe went, and soon the frantic bark- 
ing in the stable-yard showed he had begun 
feeding his four-footed pets. 

Time went on: it was a very quiet house- 
hold just then — my husband was in America, 
and my friends most of them enjoying their 
summer abroad or at some seaside place — 
all scattered here and there until autumn was 


J . COLE 


29 


over, when we were to move to town, and 
spend the winter season at our house there. 
I hoped my dear sister and her girls would 
then join us, and, best of all, my dear husband 
be at home to make our circle complete. 

Day by day Joe progressed in favor with 
everybody; his size was always a trouble, but 
his extreme good nature made everybody 
willing to help him over his difficulties. He 
invented all sorts of curious tools for reaching 
up to high places; and the marvels he would 
perform with a long stick and a sort of claw 
at the end of it were quite astonishing. 

I noticed whenever I spoke of going to 
town Joe did not seem to look forward to the 
change with any pleasure, although he had 
never been to London, he told me; but Dick 
had been once with his father, and had seen 
lots of strange things ; among others a sad one, 
that made a deep impression on Dick, who 
had told the tale to Joe, so as to have almost 
as great an effect on him. 

It appeared that one night as Dick and his 
father were crossing Waterloo Bridge, they 


30 


J . COLE 


saw a young girl running quickly along, cry- 
ing bitterly. Dick tried to keep up with her, 
and asked her what was the matter. She 
told him to let her alone; that she meant to 
drown herself, for she had nothing to live for, 
and was sick of her life. Dick persuaded her 
to tell him her grief, and heard from her that 
her mother and father had both been drowned 
in a steamer; she was left with the care of a 
little brother who had been a great trouble to 
her, and had been led away by bad com- 
panions until he became thoroughly wicked. 
She had been a milliner, with a room of her 
own, and had paid extra for a little place 
where her brother could sleep. She fed and 
clothed him out of her earnings, although he 
was idle, and cruel enough to scold and abuse 
her when she tried to reason with him and 
refused to let him bring his bad companions 
to her home. At last, he stole nearly all she 
had, and pawned it; among other things, 
some bonnets and caps, belonging to the 
people who employed her, given as patterns 
for her to copy. These she had to pay for, 


J . COLE 


31 


and lost her situation besides. By degrees 
all her clothes, her home, and all she had, 
went for food; then this wicked boy left her, 
and the next thing she knew was that he had 
been taken up with a gang of burglars con- 
cerned in a jewel robbery. That day she had 
seen him in prison, and had learned that he 
was to be transported for seven years; so the 
poor creature, mad with grief, was about to 
end her life. Dick and his father would not 
leave her until she was quiet, and had prom- 
ised them she would get a bed and supper 
with the money they gave her; they agreed to 
see her again the next day at a place she 
named. The following morning they went 
to the address, and found a crowd round the 
house. Somebody said a young woman had 
thrown herself out of a window, and had been 
taken up dead. It was too true; the girl was 
the wretched, heart-broken sister they had 
helped over night. Her grief had been too 
much for her, poor thing, and awaking to the 
light of another day, she had felt that she 
could not face it alone and destitute; so, de- 


32 


J . COLE 


spairing, had ended her life. They went to 
the hospital, where they were allowed to see 
all that remained of the poor creature. Dick’s 
description of it all was vivid. In his opinion 
the brother “might have been just such an- 
other little chap at first as Joe”; “‘and what 
would that brother feel,’ said Dick, ‘when 
he knew what he had done? for he done it,’ 
said Dick; ‘ he done that girl to death, the 
same as if he’d shov’d her out of that winder 
hisself.’” 

“ And,” said Joe, “ I wonder if them .chaps 
is goin’ about London now wot led her brother 
wrong? I don’t like London; and I wish we 
could stop ’ere.” 

I assured Joe that in London there was 
no danger of meeting such people if he 
kept to himself, and made no friends of 
strangers. 

Joe was also much afraid of having to wait 
at table when there were guests. In spite of 
all I could do, he was hopelessly nervous and 
confused when he had to wait on more than 
two or three people, and as I expected to 


J . COLE 


33 


entertain a good deal when we were in town, 
I could not help fearing Joe would be unequal 
to the duties. 

I could not bear the idea of parting with the 
little fellow ; for, added to his good disposition, 
Joe, in his dark brown livery, with gilt but- 
tons, his neat little ties, and clean hands, his 
carefully brushed curls, by this time trained 
into better order, and shining like burnished 
gold in the sun ; his tiny feet, with the favorite 
red socks, which he could and did darn very 
neatly himself when they began to wear out 
(when he bought new ones they were always 
bright red) — Joe, let me tell you, was quite 
an ornament in our establishment, and the 
envy of several boys living in families round 
about, who tried in vain to get acquainted 
with him; he would not be friends, although 
he always refused their advances with civil 
words. 

Sometimes a boy would linger when bring- 
ing a note or message for me, and try to draw 
Joe into conversation. In a few minutes I 
would hear Joe’s deep voice say, “ I think you 


34 


J . COLE 


had better go on now. I’ve got my work to 
do, and I reckon you’ve got yours a-waitin’ 
for yer at your place.” Then the side door 
would shut, and Joe was bustling about his 
work. 




CHAPTER III 

TN the beginning of October we arrived in 
London. There had been much packing 
up, and much extra work for everybody, and 
Joe was in his element. 

What those long arms, and that willing 
heart, and those quick little hands got through, 
nobody but those he helped and worked for 
could tell. Whatever was wanted Joe knew 
where to find it. Joe’s knife was ready to 
cut a stubborn knot; Joe’s shoulders ready to 
be loaded with as heavy a weight as any man 
could carry. More than once I met him 

35 


36 


J . COLE 


coming downstairs with large boxes he him- 
self could almost have been packed in, and he 
declared he did not find them too heavy. 

“You see, Missis,” he said, “I’m that 
strong now since I’ve been here, with all the 
good food I gets, and bein’ so happy like, that 
I feel almost up to carryin’ anythink. I do 
believe I could lift that there pianner, if some- 
body would just give it a hoist, and let me get 
hold of it easy.” 

Ye^, Joe was strong and well, and, I am 
sure, happy, and I had never had a single 
misgiving about him since he stood with his 
fading flowers and shabby clothes at my 
window that summer day. 

At last we were settled in town, and the 
winter season begun. Our house was situated 
in the West end of London, a little beyond 
Bayswater. It was one of a row of detached 
houses, facing another row exactly similar in 
every way, except that the backs of those in 
which we lived had small gardens, with each 
its own stable wall at the end. The stables, 
with a coachman’s room above, faced the 






1 ? 

71 

m 




























































J . COLE 


37 


mews which ran along the backs of these 
houses. On the opposite side, the houses 
facing ours had their gardens and back win- 
dows facing the high road, and no stables. 
There was a private road belonging to this, 
Holling Park, as it was called; a watchman 
kept intruders out, and prevented organ-grind- 
ers, beggars, and such invaders of the peace 
from disturbing us. 

Somehow I never was as comfortable as in 
my snug cottage in the country. Rich, fash- 
ionable people lived about us, and all day 
long kept up the round of “society life.” 

In the morning the large handsome houses 
would seem asleep, nothing moving inside or 
out, except a tradesman’s cart, calling for 
orders, or workmen putting up or taking 
down awnings at some house where there 
would be, or had been, a ball or entertainment 
of some kind. About eleven a carriage or 
two would be driven round from the mews, 
and stop before a house to take some one for 
a morning drive, but very seldom was any- 
body on foot seen about. In the afternoon 


38 


J . COLE 


it was different; carriages were rolling inces- 
santly, and streams of afternoon callers were 
going and coming from the houses when the 
mistress was “at home”; at my door, too, 
soon began the usual din of' bell and knocker. 
Joe was quite equal to the occasion, and 
enjoyed Friday, the day I received. Dressed 
in his very best, with a collar that kept his 
chin in what seemed to me a fearful state of 
torture, but added to his height by at least 
half an inch, Joe stood behind the hall door, 
ready to open it directly the knocker was 
released. He ushered in the guests as though 
“to the manner born,” giving out the names 
correctly, with all the ease of an experienced 
groom of the chambers. 

The conservatory leading out of the drawing- 
room was Joe’s especial pride; it was his great 
pleasure to syringe the hanging baskets, and 
attend to the ferns and plants. Many shil- 
lings from his pocket-money were spent in 
little surprises for me, in the form of pots of 
musk, maiden-hair, or anything he could buy. 
His wages were all sent home, and he kept for 





* 



























J . COLE 


39 


his own only what he had given to him ; some- 
times a guest would “tip” him more gener- 
ously than I liked, for his bright eyes and ready 
hands were always at everybody’s service. 

After the return of my husband, who from 
the first became Joe’s especial care, as to 
boots, brushing of clothes, etc., it became 
necessary to give two or three dinner-parties, 
and I must confess I felt nervous as to how 
Joe would acquit himself. 

In our dining-room was a very large bear- 
skin rug, and the floor being of polished oak, 
it was dangerous to step on this rug, for it 
would slip away from the feet on the smooth 
surface; even the dogs avoided it, so many 
falls had they met with upon it. 

The first day of my husband’s arrival, we 
had my sister and a friend to dine; in the few 
moments before dinner we had been talking 
about Joe, and my husband had been laughing 
at the size of my page, and scolding me a 
little, or rather pretending to do so, for taking 
a written character. 

“Little woman,” he said, “don’t be sur- 


40 


J . COLE 


prised if one night a few country burglars 
make us a visit, and renew their acquaintance 
with J. Cole.” 

“You don’t know Joe,” I replied, “or you 
would never say that.” 

“Do you know him so well, little wife?” 
said my dear sensible husband; “remember 
he has been in our service only six months. 
In the country he had very little of value in 
his hands, but here, it seems to me, he has too 
much. All the plate, indeed everything of 
value, is in his pantry, and he is a very young 
boy to trust. One of the women servants 
should take charge of the plate-chest, I think. 
Where does this paragon sleep ? ” 

“Downstairs,” I said, “next the kitchen, 
at the back of the house. You should see 
how carefully every night he looks to the plate- 
basket, counts everything, and then asks Mrs. 
Wilson to see it is right, locks it up, and gives 
her the key to take care of. No one can 
either open or carry away an iron safe easily, 
and there is nothing else worth taking; besides, 
I know Joe is honest, I feel it.” 


J . COLE 


41 


“Well, I hope so, dear,” was my husband’s 
reply, but I could see he was not quite com- 
fortable about it. 

At dinner that day Joe had an accident; he 
was dreadfully nervous as usual, and when 
waiting, he forgot to attend to my guests first, 
but always came to me. The parlor-maid, 
a new one, and not a great favorite with Joe, 
made matters worse by correcting him in an 
audible voice. Somebody wanted oyster 
sauce, and she told Joe to hand it; the poor 
boy, wishing to obey quickly, forgot to give 
the bearskin a wide berth, slipped on it, and 
fell full length, depositing the contents of 
the sauce-tureen partly into a blue leather 
armchair, and the rest on to my sister’s 
back. 

The boy’s consternation was dreadful. I 
could see he was completely overcome with 
fright and sorrow for what he had done. He 
got up, and all his trembling lips could say 
was, “Oh, please, I’m so sorry; it was the 
bear as tripped me up. I am so very 
sorry.” 


42 


J . COLE 


Even my husband could scarcely keep from 
smiling, the sorrow was so genuine, the sense 
of shame so true. 

“There, never mind, Joe,” he said kindly, 
“you must be more careful; now run and 
get a sponge and do the best you can with it.” 

After that Joe had the greatest terror of 
that treacherous skin, and I heard him telling 
the parlor-maid about it. 

“You mind,” he said, “or that bear ’ll 
ketch ’old of yer. I shan’t forget how he 
ketched ’old of my leg that day and knocked 
me over; so you’d better take care, and not 
go nigher than you can ’elp. He’s always 
a-lookin’ out to ketch yer, but he w T on’t ’ave 
me no more, I can tell ’im.” 

This fall of Joe’s made him still more ner- 
vous when waiting at table; at last, after he 
had made some very serious mistakes, I had 
to speak to him and tell him I was afraid I 
must send him away if he did not soon learn 
to wait better, for his master was annoyed at 
the mistakes he made, such as pouring port 
instead of sherry, giving cold plates when hot 


J . COLE 43 

ones were required, handing dishes on the 
wrong side, etc. 

My little lecture was listened to quietly and 
humbly, and Joe had turned to go away, 
when, to my surprise and distress, he sud- 
denly burst into a perfect passion of tears 
and sobs. 

“I will try and learn myself,” he said, as 
well as his sobs would let him, “indeed, I will. 
I know I’m stoopid. I sez to myself every 
time company comes, ‘I’ll mind wot I’m 
about, and remember dishes left-’anded, pour- 
in’s out right, sherry wine’s yeller, and port 
wine afterwards with the nuts, grapes and 
things; and the emits when there’s fish, and 
begin with the strangerest lady next to mas- 
ter’s side, and ’elp missis last.’ I knows it all, 
but when they’re all sittin’ down, and every- 
body wantin’ somethin’, I don’t know if 
Jane’s a-goin’ to giv’ it ’em, or I am, and I 
gets stoopid and my ’ands shakes, and some- 
how I can’t do nothin’; but please don’t send 
me away. I do like you and the master. 
I’ll ask Jane to learn me better. You see if 


44 J . COLE 

I don’t. Oh, please ’m, say you’ll try 
me!” 

What could I say but “Yes.” For a day 
or two Joe did better; we were a small party, 
and the waiting was easy; but shortly we were 
to have a large dinner-party, and as the time 
drew near, Joe became quite pale and anxious. 

About this time, too, I had been awakened 
at night by curious sounds downstairs, as of 
somebody moving about, and once I heard 
an unmistakable fall of some heavy article. 

My husband assured me it was nothing 
alarming, and he went downstairs, but could 
neither hear nor see anything unusual. All 
was quiet. 

Another night I felt sure I heard sounds 
downstairs, and in spite of my husband’s 
advice to remain still, I called Mrs. Wilson 
and entreated her to come down to the 
kitchen floor with me. It was so very easy, 
I knew, for anybody to enter the house from 
the back; on account of the deep area all 
round, they could work away with their tools 
at the ground floor back windows unseen. 


J . COLE 


45 


Any one could get on the top of the stable 
from the mews, drop into the garden, and be 
safe; for the watchman and policeman were 
on duty in the front of the house only; the 
back was quite unprotected. True, there 
were iron bars to Joe’s window and the 
kitchen, but iron bars could be sawn through, 
and I lived in dread of burglars. 

This night Mrs. Wilson and I went softly 
down, and as we neared the kitchen stairs I 
heard a voice say in a whisper, “ Make haste!” 

“There, Mrs. Wilson, did you hear that?” 
I said. “Was that imagination?” 

“No, ma’am,” she replied; “there’s some- 
body talking, and I believe it’s in Joe’s room. 
Let us go up and fetch the master.” 

So we returned upstairs, and soon my hus- 
band stood with us at the door of Joe’s room. 

“Open the door, Joe!” he cried. “Who 
have you got there?” 

“ Nobody, please, sir,” said a trembling voice. 

“Open the door at once!” said the master, 
and in a moment it was opened. Joe stood 
there very pale, but with no sort of fear in his 


46 


J . COLE 


face. There was nobody in the room, and as 
Joe had certainly been in bed, we concluded 
he must hate talked in his sleep, and perhaps 
walked about also, for all that we knew. 

The day before the dinner-party, Cook 
came and told me she felt sure there was 
something wrong with Joe. He was so 
changed from what he used to be; there was 
no getting him to wake in the morning, and 
he seemed so heavy with sleep, as if he had 
no rest at night. Also Cook had proofs of 
his having been in her kitchen after he was 
supposed to go to bed; chairs were moved, 
and several things not where she had left 
them. She had asked Joe, and he replied 
that he did go into the kitchen, but would not 
say what for. 

I did not like to talk to Joe that day, so 
decided to wait till after the dinner, and I 
would then insist on the mystery’s being 
cleared up. I knew Joe would tell the 
truth; my trust was unshaken, although cir- 
cumstances seemed against him. 

That night Mrs. Wilson came to my door, 


J . COLE 


47 


and said she was sure Joe was at his night- 
work again, for she could see from her 
bedroom window a reflection on *the stable 
wall, which must be from a light in his 
room. 

“How can we find out,” I said, “what he is 
doing?” 

“That is easily done,” said my husband. 
“ We can go out at the garden door, and down 
the steps leading from the garden into the 
area, opposite his window. We can look 
through the Venetian blinds, if they are down, 
and see for ourselves. He won’t be able to 
see us.” 

Accordingly, having first wrapped up in 
our furs, we went down, and were soon at 
Joe’s window, standing in the area that sur- 
rounded the house. The laths of the blind 
were some of them open, and between them 
we saw distinctly all over the room. 

At first we could not understand the strange 
sight that met our gaze. 

In the middle of Joe’s room was a table, 
spread with a cloth; on it saucers from flower- 


48 


J . COLE 


pots were placed at intervals down each side; 
before each saucer a chair was placed, and in 
the centre of the table a high basket, from 
which a Stilton cheese had been unpacked 
that morning; this was evidently to represent 
a tall epergne. On Joe’s washstand were 
several bottles, a jug, and by each flower-pot 
saucer two vessels of some kind — by one, 
two jam-pots of different sizes; by another, a 
broken specimen glass and a teacup — and 
so on. From chair to chair moved Joe, softly 
but quickly, on tiptoe, with bottles that con- 
tained water; we could see his lips move, and 
concluded he was saying something to imagi- 
nary persons, for he would put a jam-pot on 
his tray, pour into it from the bottle, and then 
replace it. Sometimes he would go quickly 
to his bed, which we saw represented the 
dinner-wagon, or side-board, and bring imag- 
inary dishes from there and hand them. 
Then he would go quickly from chair to chair, 
always correcting himself if he went to the 
wrong side, talking all the time softly to him- 
self. So here was the solution of the mystery: 


J . C O L E 49 

here melted into air the visions of Joe in 
league with midnight burglars. 

The poor boy, evidently alarmed at the 
prospect of the dinner-party, and feeling that 
he must try somehow to improve in waiting 
at table before that time, had stolen all those 
hours nightly from his rest, to practice with 
whatever substitutes were at hand for the 
usual table requisites. 

Here every night, when those who had 
worked far less during the day were soundly 
sleeping, had that anxious, striving little heart 
shaken off fatigue, and the big blue eyes 
refused to yield to sleep, in order to fight with 
the nervousness that alone prevented his 
willing hands acting with their natural clever- 
ness. I felt a choking in my throat, when I 
saw the thin, pale little face, that should have 
been on the pillow hours before, lighted up 
with triumph as the supposed guests departed, 
the dumb show of folding the dinner napkins 
belonging to myself and the master, and 
putting them in their respective rings, telling 
us the ordeal was over. What a weird scene 


50 


J . COLE 


it was! The dim light, the silent house, the 
spread table, and the empty chairs. One 
could imagine ghostly revellers, visible only 
to that one fragile attendant, who ministered 
so willingly to their numerous wants. The 
sort of nervous thrill that heralds hysterical 
attacks was rapidly overcoming me, and I 
whispered to my husband, “Let us go now;” 
but he lingered yet a few seconds, and silently 
drew my attention again to the window. 

Joe was on his knees by the bedside, his 
face hidden in his hands. What silent prayer 
was ascending to the Throne of Grace, who 
shall say? I only know that it were well if 
many a kneeling worshipper in “purple and 
fine linen” could feel as sure of being heard 
as Joe did when, his victory won, he knelt, in 
his humble servant’s garb, and said his prayers 
that night in spite of the aching head and 
weary limbs which needed so badly the few 
hours’ rest that remained before six o’clock, 
the time Joe always got up. 

Silently we stole away, and in my mind 
from that moment my faith in Joe never 


J . COLE 


51 


wavered. Not once, in spite of sad events 
that came to pass later on, when even I, his 
staunchest friend, had to recall to memory 
that kneeling little form in the silence of the 
night, alone with his God, in order to stifle 
the cruel doubts of his truth which were 
forced upon us all by circumstances I must 
soon relate. 

The famous dinner passed off well. Joe 
was splendid ; his midnight practice had 
brought its reward, and he moved about so 
swiftly, and anticipated everybody’s wants 
so well, that some of my friends asked me 
where I got such a treasure of a page; he must 
have had a good butler or footman to teach 
him, they said; he is evidently used to waiting 
on many guests. I was proud of Joe. 

The next day he came to me with more 
than a sovereign in silver, and told me the 
gentlemen had been so very kind to him : 
“a’most every one giv’ me somethin’, tho’ 
I never arst, or waited about, as some fellers 
do, as if they wouldn’t lose sight of a gent till 
he paid ’em. But,” said Joe, “they would 


52 


J . COLE 


giv’ it me; and one gent, he follered me right 
up the passage, he did, and sez, ‘’Ere, you 
small boy/ he sez, and he give me a whole 
’arf-crown. Whatever for, I don’t know.” 

But I knew that must have been Dr. Loring, 
a celebrated physician, my husband’s dearest 
friend. We had told him about Joe’s mid- 
night self-teaching, and he had been much 
interested in the story. 

You little thought, Joe, that the hand 
which patted your curly head so kindly that 
night would one day hold your small wrist 
and count its feeble life pulse beating slowly 
and yet more slowly, while we, who loved you, 
should watch the clever, handsome face, try- 
ing in vain to read there the blessed word 
“Hope.” 




CHAPTER IV 

A ND now I must confess to those — for 
^ surely there will be a few — who have 
felt a little interest so far in the fortunes of 
J. Cole, that a period in my story has arrived 
when I would fain lay down my pen, and not 
awaken the sleeping past, to recall the sad 
trouble that befell him. 

I am almost an old woman now, and all 
this happened many years ago, when my hair 
was golden instead of silver. I was young in 
those days, and now I am peacefully and hope- 
fully waiting God’s good time for my sum- 
53 


54 


J. COLE 


mons. Troubles, many and hard to bear, 
have been my lot. Loss of husband, children, 
dear, good friends, many by death; and some 
troubles harder even than those — the loss of 
trust, and bitter awakening to the ingratitude 
and worthlessness of those in whom I have 
trusted. All these I have endured. Yet time 
and trouble have not sufficiently hardened 
my heart so that I can write of what follows 
without pain. 

Christmas was over, and my dear husband 
was again away for some months. As soon 
as I could really say, “Spring is here,” we 
were to leave London for our country home, 
and Joe was constantly talking to Mrs. Wilson 
about his various pets, left behind in the 
gardener’s care. There was an old jackdaw, 
an especial favorite of his; a miserable owl, 
too, who had met with an accident, resulting 
in the loss of an eye; a more evil-looking 
object than “Cyclops,” as my husband chris- 
tened him, I never saw. Sometimes on a 
dark night this one eye would gleam luridly 
from out the shadowy recesses of the garden. 


J . COLE 


55 


and an unearthly cry of “Hoo-oo-t” fall on 
the ear; enough to give one the “creeps for a 
hour,” as Mary, the housemaid, said. But 
Joe loved Cyclops, or rather “Cloppy,” as he 
called him, and the bird hopped after Joe 
about the garden, as if he quite returned the 
feeling. 

All our own dogs, and two or three maimed 
ones, and a cat or two, more or less hideous, 
and indebted to Joe’s mercy in rescuing them 
from traps, snares, etc. — all these creatures 
were Joe’s delight. Each week the gardener’s 
boy wrote a few words to Joe, telling him of 
their health and wonderful doings, and each 
week Joe faithfully sent a shilling, to be laid 
out in food for them. Then there was Joe’s 
especial garden; this also a sort of hospital, 
or convalescent home rather, where many 
blighted, unhealthy-looking plants and shrubs 
that had been discarded by the gardener and 
cast aside to be burnt on the weed heap w r ere 
rescued by Joe, patiently nursed and petted 
as it were into life again by constant care and 
watching, and after being kept in pots awhile, 


56 


J . COLE 


till they showed, by sending forth some tiny 
shoot or bud, that the sap of life was once 
more circulating freely, were then planted in 
the sheltered corner he called “his own.” 

What treasures awaited him in this small 
square of earth. What bunches of violets he 
would gather for “the missis.” His longing 
to get back to his various pets, and his garden, 
was the topic of conversation on many a long 
evening between Joe and Mrs. Wilson. 

Little Bogie, the fox terrier, was the only 
dog we had with us in town, and Bogie hated 
London. After the quiet country life, the 
incessant rolling of carriages, tramping of 
horses, and calling of coachmen, shrill cab 
whistles, and all the noises of a fashionable 
neighborhood at night during a London 
season, were most objectionable to Bogie; he 
could not rest, and often Joe got out of bed 
in the night, and took him in his arms, to 
prevent his waking all of us with his shrill 
barking at the unwonted sounds. 

As I have said before, I am very nervous, 
and the prospect of spending several more 


J . COLE 


57 


weeks in the big London house without my 
husband was far from pleasant; so I invited 
my widowed sister and her girls to stay with 
me some time longer, and made up my mind 
to banish my fears, and think of nothing but 
that the dark nights would be getting shorter 
and shorter; and meanwhile our house was 
well protected, as far as good strong bolts and 
chains could do so. 

One night I felt more nervous than usual. 
I had expected a letter from America for some 
days past, and none had arrived. On this 
evening I knew the mail was due, so I waited 
anxiously for the last ring of the postman at 
ten o’clock; but I was doomed to listen in 
vain ; there was the sharp, loud ring next door, 
but not at ours, and I went to my room earlier 
than the others, really to give way to a few 
tears that I could not control. 

I sat by my bedroom fire, thinking, and, I 
am afraid, conjuring up all sorts of terrible 
reasons for my dear husband’s silence, until 
I must have fallen asleep, for I awoke chilly 
and cramped from the uncomfortable posture 


58 


J . COLE 


I had slept in. The fire was out, and the house 
silent as the grave; not even a carriage passing 
to take up some late guest. I looked at the 
clock — half -past three — and then from my 
window; it was that “darkest hour before 
dawn.” I hurried into bed, and endeavored 
to sleep; but no, I was hopelessly wide awake; 
no amount of counting, or mental exercise on 
the subject of “sheep going through a hedge” 
had any effect, and I found myself lying 
awake, listening. Yes, I knew that I was 
listening for something that I should . hear 
before long , but I did not know what . 

“Hark! what was that?” a sudden thud, 
as if something had fallen somewhere in the 
house; then silence, except for the loud beat- 
ing of my heart, that threatened to suffocate 
me. “Nonsense,” I said to myself “I am 
foolishly nervous to-night. It is nothing here, 
or Bogie would bark”; so I tried again to 
sleep. Hush! Surely that was a footstep 
going up or down the stairs! I could not 
endure the agony of being alone any longer, 
but would go to my sister’s room, just across 


J . COLE 


59 


the landing, and get her to come and stay 
the rest of the night with me. I put on my 
slippers and dressing-gown, and opening my 
door, came face to face with my sister, who 
was coming to me. 

“Let me in,” she said, “and don’t let us 
alarm the girls, but I feel certain something is 
going on downstairs. Bogie barked furi- 
ously an hour ago, and then was suddenly 
silent.” 

“ That must have been when I was asleep,” 
I replied ; “ no doubt Joe heard him, and took 
him in.” 

“That may be,” said my sister, “but I 
have kept on hearing queer noises at the back 
of the house; they seemed in Joe’s room at 
first. Come and listen yourself on the 
stairs.” 

It is strange, but true, that many persons, 
horribly nervous at the thought of danger, 
find all their presence of mind in full force 
when actually called upon to face it. So it is 
with me, and so it was on that night. I stood 
on the landing, and listened ; in a few moments 


60 


J . COLE 


I heard muffled sounds downstairs, like per- 
sons moving about stealthily. 

“There is certainly somebody there, Nelly,” 
I said to my sister, “ and they are in the base- 
ment. If we could creep down quietly and 
get into the drawing-room, we might open the 
window and call the watchman or policeman; 
both are on duty until seven.” 

“But think,” said my sister, “of the fright 
of the girls if they hear us, and find they are 
left alone. The servants, too, will scream, and 
rush about, as they always do. Let us go 
down and make sure there are thieves, and 
then see what is best to be done. The door 
at the top of the kitchen stairs is locked, 
so they must be down there; perhaps if 
we could get the watchman to come in 
quietly, we might catch them in a trap, by 
letting him through the drawing-room, and 
into the conservatory. He could get into 
the garden from there, and as they must 
have got in that way over the stable wall 
from the mews, through the garden, they 
would try to escape the same way, and the 


J . COLE 


61 


watchman would be waiting for them, and 
cut off their retreat.” 

I agreed, and we stole downstairs into the 
drawing-room, where we locked ourselves in, 
then very gently and carefully drew up one 
of the side blinds of the bay window. The 
morning had begun to break, and everything 
in the wide road was distinctly visible. In 
the distance I could see the policeman on 
duty, but on the opposite side, going away 
from our house instead of towards it. He 
would turn the corner at the top of the road, 
go past the houses parallel with the backs of 
our row, then appear at the opposite end of 
the park and come along our side; there was 
no intermediate turning — nothing but an 
unbroken row of about forty detached houses 
facing each other. 

What could we do ? I dared not wait until 
the policeman came back; quite twenty min- 
utes must pass before then, and day being so 
near at hand, the light was increasing every 
moment; the burglars would surely not leave 
without visiting the drawing-room and dining- 


62 


J . COLE 


room, and would perhaps murder us, to save 
themselves from detection. 

If I could only attract the policeman’s 
attention, but how? 

My sister was close to the door listening — 
every instant we dreaded hearing them com- 
ing up the kitchen stairs. I could not under- 
stand Bogie’s not barking, and Joe’s not 
waking, for where I was I could distinctly 
hear the men moving about in the pantry 
and kitchen. 

“I wonder,” I said to my sister, “if I could 
put something across from this balcony to the 
stonework by the front steps ? It seems such 
a little distance; if I could step across, I could 
open the front gate in an instant, and run 
after the policeman. I shall try.” 

“You will fall and kill yourself,” my sister 
said; “the space is much wider than you 
think.” 

But I was determined to try, for if I let that 
policeman go out of sight, what horrors might 
happen in the twenty minutes before he 
would come back. 


J . COLE 


63 


The idea of one of the girls waking and 
calling out, or of Joe waking and being shot 
or stabbed, gave me a feeling of desperation, 
as though I alone could and must save them. 

Luckily the house was splendidly built, 
every wdndow-sash sliding noiselessly and 
easily in its groove. I opened the one nearest 
to the hall-door steps, and saw that the stone 
ledge abutted to within about two feet of the 
low balcony of the window; but I was too 
nervous to trust myself to spring across even 
that distance. At that moment my sister 
whispered : 

“I hear somebody coming up the kitchen 
stairs!” 

Desperately I cast my eyes round the room 
for something to bridge the open space, which 
would bear my weight, if only for a moment. 
The fender-stool caught my eye; that might 
do, it was strong, and more than long enough. 
In an instant we had it across, and I was out 
of the window and down the front steps. 

As I turned the handle of the heavy iron 
gate, I looked down at the front kitchen win- 


64 


J . COLE 


dow. A man stood in the kitchen, and he 
looked up and saw me — such a horrible- 
looking ruffian, too. Fear lent wings to my 
feet, and I flew up the road. The watchman 
was just entering the park from the opposite 
end; he saw me, and sounded his whistle; the 
policeman turned and ran towards me. I 
was too exhausted to speak, and he caught 
me just as I gasped “Thieves at 50!” (the 
number of our house), and fell forward in a 
dead swoon. 

When I recovered I was lying on my own 
bed, my sister, the scared servants, and the 
policeman, all around me. From them I 
heard that directly the man in the kitchen 
caught sight of me, he warned his companion, 
who was busy forcing the lock of the door at 
the head of the kitchen stairs, and my sister 
heard them both rush across the garden, 
where they had a ladder against the stable- 
wall. They must have pulled this up after 
them, and tossed it into the next garden, 
where it was found, to delay pursuit. The 
park-keeper, after sounding his whistle, had 














































































- 














. 








































J . COLE 


65 


rushed to our house, got in at the window, 
and ran to the door at the top of the kitchen 
stairs, but it was quite impossible to open it; 
the burglar had cleverly left something in the 
lock when disturbed, and the key would not 
turn. He then went through the drawing- 
room into the conservatory, where a glass 
door opened on the garden, but by the time 
the heavy sliding glass panel was unfastened, 
and the inner door unbolted, the men had 
disappeared. They took with them much 
less than they hoped to take, for there were 
parcels and packets of spoons and forks, and 
a case of very handsome gold salt cellars, a 
marriage gift, which always had been kept in 
a baize-lined chest in the pantry. I had the 
key to this chest which was supposed until now 
to be proof against burglars ; the lock had been 
burnt all round with some instrument, most 
likely a poker heated in the gas, and then 
forced inwards from the burnt woodwork. 

“How was it,” I asked, “Joe did not 
waken during all this, or Bogie bark?” 

As I asked the question, I noticed that my 


66 


J . COLE 


sister turned away, and Mrs. Wilson, after 
vainly endeavoring to look unconcerned, threw 
her apron suddenly over her head, and burst 
out crying. 

“What is the matter?” I said, sitting up; 
“what are you all hiding from me? Send 
Joe to me; I will learn the truth from him.” 

At this the policeman came forward, and 
then I heard that Joe was missing, his room 
was in great disorder, and one of his shoes, 
evidently dropped in his hurry, had been 
found in the garden, near some spoons thrown 
down by the thieves; his clothes were gone, 
so he evidently had dressed himself after pre- 
tending to go to bed as usual; his blankets 
and sheets were taken away, used no doubt, 
the policeman said, to wrap up the stolen 
things. 

“Is it possible,” I asked, “that you suspect 
Joe is in league with these burglars?” 

“Well, mum,” said the man, “it looks 
queer, and very like it. He slept downstairs 
close to the very door where they got in; he 
never gives no alarm; he must have been 


J . COLE 


67 


expecting something, or else why was he 
dressed ? And how did his shoe come in the 
garden ? And what’s more to the point, if so 
be as he’s innercent, where is he? These 
young rascals is that artful, you’d be surprised 
to know the dodges they’re up to.” 

“But,” I interrupted, “it is impossible, it is 
cruel to suspect him. He is gone, true 
enough, but I’m sure he will come back. 
Perhaps he ran after the men to try to catch 
them, and dropped his shoe then.” 

“That’s not likely, mom,” said he, with a 
pitying smile at my ignorance of circumstan- 
tial evidence; “he’d have called out to stop 
’em, and it ain’t likely they’d have let him get 
up their ladder, afore chucking of it into the 
next garden, if so be as he was a-chasing of 
’em to get ’em took. No, mar’m; I’m very 
sorry, particular as you seem so kindly dis- 
posed; but, in my humble opinion, he’s a 
artful young dodger, and this ’ere job has 
been planned ever so long, and he’s connived 
at it, and has hooked it along with his pals. 
I know ’em, but we’ll soon nab him; and if 


68 


J . COLE 


so be as you’ll be so kind as to let me take 
down in writin’ all you knows about ‘ J. Cole,’ 
which is his name, I’m informed — where 
you took him from, his character, and pre- 
vious career, it will help considerable in laying 
hands on him ; and when he’s found we’ll soon 
find his pals.” 

Of course, I told all I knew about Joe. I 
felt positive he would come back, perhaps in 
a few minutes, to explain everything. Be- 
sides, there was Bogie, too. Why should he 
take Bogie? The policeman suggested that 
“ perhaps the dawg foller’d him, and he had 
taken it along with him, to prevent being 
traced by its means.” 

At length, all this questioning being over, 
the household settled down into a sort of 
strange calm. It seemed to us days since we 
had said “Good-night,” and sought our rooms 
on that night, and yet it was only twenty-four 
hours ago; in that short time how much had 
taken place! On going over all the plate, 
etc., we missed many more things. Mrs. 
Wilson, whose faith in Joe’s honesty never 


J . COLE 


69 


wavered, began to think the poor boy might 
have slept through the robbery ; and as he was 
so proud of having in his charge the plate 
used every day, she believed that when he dis- 
covered it had been stolen he might have 
been so frightened at the thought of our 
blaming him for the loss that he had run 
away home to his people in his fright, meaning 
to ask his father, or his adored Dick, to return 
to me and plead for him. I thought, too, this 
was possible, for I knew how terribly he 
would reproach himself for letting anything 
in his care be stolen. Therefore I made up 
my mind to telegraph to his father at once; 
but not to alarm him, I said: 

“Is Joe with you? Have reason to think 
he has gone home. Answer.” 

The reply came some hours after, for in 
those small villages communication was diffi- 
cult. It ran thus: 

“ We have not seen Joe; if he comes to-night 
will write at once. Hoping there is nothing 
wrong.” 


70 


J . COLE 


So that surmise was a mistake, for Joe had 
money, and would go by train if he went home, 
and be there in two hours. 

All the household sat up nearly all that 
night, or rested uncomfortably on sofas and 
armchairs; we felt too unsettled to go to bed, 
though worn out with suspense, and the 
previous excitement and fright. Officials and 
detectives came and went during the evening, 
and looked about for traces of the robbers; 
before night a description of the stolen things, 
and a most minute one of Joe, had been 
posted outside the police-stations, and around 
London for miles. A reward of twenty 
pounds was offered for Joe, and my heart 
ached to know there was a hue and cry after 
him as if he were a common thief. 

What would the old parents think? and 
how would Dick feel ? — Dick, whose good 
counsels and careful training had made Joe 
what I knew he was, in spite of every suspicion. 

The next day I still felt sure he would come. 
I went down into the room where he used to 
sleep, and saw that Mrs. Wilson had put it in 


J . COLE 


71 


order; fresh blankets and sheets were on the 
little bed, all ready for him. So many things 
put me in mind of the loving, gentle disposi- 
tion. A little flower vase I valued very much 
had been broken by Bogie’s romping with 
one of my nieces, and knocking it down. It 
was broken in more than twenty pieces; after 
I had patiently tried to mend it myself, and 
my nieces, with still greater patience, had had 
their turn at it, we had given it up as a bad 
job, and thought it had long ago gone on to 
the dust-heap. There were some shelves on 
the wall of Joe’s room where his treasures 
were kept, and on one of these shelves, cov- 
ered with an old white handkerchief, was a 
little tray containing the vase, a bottle of 
cement, and camel’s-hair brush. The mend- 
ing was finished, all but two or three of the 
smallest pieces, and beautifully done; it must 
have taken time, and an amount of patience 
that put my efforts and those of the girls to 
shame; but Joe’s was a labor of love, and did 
not weary him. He would probably have put 
it in its usual place one morning, when mended, 


72 


J . COLE 


saying nothing about it until I found it out, 
and then confessed^ in his own queer way, 
“Please, I knew you was sorry it was broke, 
and so I mended it”; then he would have 
hurried away, flushed with pleasure at my 
few words of thanks and praise. 

On the mantelpiece were more of Joe’s 
treasures — four or five cheap photographs, 
the subjects quite characteristic of Joe. One 
of them was a religious subject, “The Shep- 
herd with a little lamb on his shoulders.” 
A silent prayer went up from my heart that 
somewhere that same Good Shepherd was 
finding lost Joe, and bringing him safely 
back to us. 

There were some pebbles he had picked up 
during a memorable trip to Margate with 
Dick, a year before I saw him; these pebbles, 
which he firmly believed were real “aggits,” 
he had promised to have polished soon, and 
made into brooch and earrings for Mrs. 
Wilson. 

There was a very old-fashioned photograph 
of myself that I had torn in half, and thrown 


J . COLE 


73 


into the waste-paper basket. I saw this had 
been carefully joined together and enclosed 
in a cheap frame — the only picture that 
could boast of being so preserved. I suppose 
Joe could afford only one frame, and his 
sense of the fitness of things made him 
choose “the missis’s” picture to be first 
honored. 

How sad I felt looking round the room! 
People may smile at my feeling so sad and 
concerned about a servant, a common, low- 
born page-boy. Aye, smile on, if you will, 
but tell me, my friend, can you say, if you 
were in Joe’s position at that time, with cir- 
cumstantial evidence so strong against you, 
poor and lowly as he was, have you four or 
five, or even two or three friends who would 
believe in you, stand up for you, and trust in 
you, in spite of all, as we did for Joe ? 

I went up to my sitting-room, after telling 
Mary to light the fire in poor Joe’s room, and 
let it look warm and cozy, for I had some sort 
of presentiment that I should see the poor boy 
again very soon — how I knew not, but I 


74 


J . COLE 


have all my life been subject to spiritual in- 
fluences, and have seldom been mistaken in 
them. 

We were all thinking of going early to rest, 
for since the robbery none of us had had any 
real sleep. Suddenly the front door bell rang 
timidly, as if the visitor were not quite sure 
of its being right to pull the handle. 

“Perhaps that’s Joe,” said my sister. 

But I knew Joe would not ring that 
bell. 

We heard Mary open the door, and a man’s 
voice ask if Mr. Aylmer lived there. 

“Yes,” said Mary, “but he is abroad, but 
you can see Mrs. Aylmer.” 

Then came a low murmuring of voices, and 
Mary came in, saying: 

“Oh, ma’am, it’s Dick, Joe’s brother; and 
he says may he see you?” 

“Send him in here at once,” I replied. 

In a moment Dick stood before me; Dick, 
Joe’s beau-ideal of all that was good, noble, 
and admirable. I must say the mind-picture 
I had formed of Dick was totally unlike the 


J . COLE 


75 


reality. I had expected to see a sunburnt big 
fellow, with broad shoulders and expressive 
features. 

The real Dick was a thin, delicate-looking 
young man, with a pale face, and straight 
black hair. He stood with his hat in his 
hand, looking down as if afraid to speak. 

“Oh, pray come in,” I cried, going forward 
to meet him. “I know who you are. Oh, 
have you brought me any news of poor Joe? 
We are all his friends here, his true friends, 
and you must let us be yours, too, in this 
trouble. Have you seen him?” 

At my words the bowed head was lifted up, 
and then I saw Dick’s face as it was. If ever 
truth, honor, and generosity looked out from 
the windows of a soul, they looked out of 
those large blue eyes of Dick’s — eyes so 
exactly like Joe’s in expression, that the black 
lashes instead of the fair ones seemed wrong 
somehow. 

“God bless you, lady, for them words,” 
said Dick; and before I could prevent it, he 
had knelt at my feet, caught my hand and 


76 J . C O L E 

pressed it to his lips, while wild sobs broke 
from him. 

“Forgive me,” he said, rising to his feet 
and leaning with one hand on the back of a 
chair, his whole frame shaking with emotion. 
“Forgive me for givin’ way like this; but I’ve 
seen the papers about our Joe, and I know 
what’s being thought of him, and I’ve come 
here ashamed to see you, thinkin’ you believed 
as the rest do, that Joe robbed you after all 
your goodness to him. Why, lady, I tell you 
rather than I’d believe that of my little lad, 
as I thrashed till my heart almost broke to 
hear him sob, for the only lie as he ever told 
in all his life; if I could believe it, I’d take 
father’s old gun and end my life, for I’d be a 
beast, not fit to live any longer. And I thought 
you doubted him too ; but now I hear you say 
you’re his friend, and believes in him, and 
don’t think he robbed you, I know now there’s 
good folks in the world, and there’s mercy 
and justice, and it ain’t all wrong, as I’d 
come a’most to think as it was, when I first 
know’d about this ’ere.” 


J . COLE 


77 


“Sit down, Dick,” I said, “and recover 
yourself, and let us see what can be done. 
I will tell you all that has happened, and then 
perhaps you can throw some light on Joe’s 
conduct — you who know him so well.” 

Dick sat down, and shading his eyes with 
his hand that his tears might not betray his 
weakness any more, he listened quietly while 
I went over all the events of that dreadful 
night. 

When I had finished, Dick sat for some 
moments quite silent, then with a weary 
gesture, passing his hand across his forehead, 
he remarked sadly: 

“I can’t make nothing of it; it’s a thing 
beyond my understanding. I’m that dazed 
like, I can’t see nothin’ straight. However, 
what I’ve got to do is to find Joe, and that I 
mean to do; if he’s alive I’ll find him, and then 
let him speak for hisself. I don’t believe he’s 
done nothing wrong, but if he has done ever 
so little or ever so much, he’ll ‘ own up to it 
whatever it is ,’ that’s what Joe’ll do. I told 
him to lay by them words and hold to ’em. 


78 


J . COLE 


and I’ll lay my life he’ll do as I told him. 
I’ve got a bed down Marylebone way, at my 
aunt’s what’s married to a policeman; I’m to 
stay there, and I’ll have a talk with ’em about 
this and get some advice. I know Joe’s inner- 
cent, and why don’t he come and say so? 
But I’ll find him.” 

I inquired about the old people, and how 
they bore their trial. 

“Father’s a’most beside hisself,” said Dick; 
“and only that he’s got to keep mother in the 
dark about this, he’d have come with me; but 
mother, she’s a-bed with rheumatics, and 
Doctor told father her heart was weak like, 
and she mustn’t be told, or it would p’raps 
kill her. She thinks a deal of Joe, does 
mother, being the youngest, and always such 
a sort of lovin’ little chap he were.” Here 
Dick’s voice broke again, and I made him go 
down to Mrs. Wilson and have some refresh- 
ment before leaving. He promised to see me 
again the first thing in the morning, when he 
had talked to his friend, the policeman. 

Scarcely had Dick gone, when a loud, and 


J . COLE 


79 


this time firm ring, announced another visitor, 
in a cab too, I could hear. Evidently there 
was no going to rest early that night, as ten 
o’clock was then striking. 

Soon, to my surprise, I heard a well-known 
voice, and Mary announced Dr. Loring — 
my husband’s old friend, of whom I have 
already spoken. 

“Well, my dear,” he cried, in his pleasant, 
cheerful voice, that in itself seemed to lift 
some of the heaviness from my heart, “are 
you not astonished to see me at such an hour ?” 

“Astonished, certainly,” I replied; “but 
very, very glad. You are always welcome; 
and more than ever now, when we are in 
trouble and sorrow. Do sit down, and stay 
with me awhile.” 

“Yes, I will, for an hour, gladly,” he said. 
“But there’s something outside that had 
better be brought in first. You know I’ve 
only just arrived from Devonshire, and there 
are two barrels of Devonshire apples on that 
cab, one for you, and one for the wife; that is 
why you see me here; for I thought it would 


80 


J . COLE 


not be ten minutes out of my road to pass by 
here and leave them with you, and so save the 
trouble of sending them by carrier to-morrow.” 

I rang for Mary, and the Doctor suggested 
that the apples be put in some place where the 
smell of them could not penetrate upstairs; 
for, as he truly remarked, “though a fine ripe 
pippin is delicious to eat at breakfast or 
luncheon, the smell of them shut up in a 
house is horrible.” 

“I dare say Mrs. Wilson will find a place 
in the basement,” I said, “for we don’t use 
half the room there is down there.” 

Having ordered the barrel to be stowed 
away, I soon settled my visitor comfortably 
in an armchair by the fire, with a cup of his 
favorite cocoa by his side. 

“And now, my dear,” said he, “tell me 
about this burglary that has taken place; it 
has made you look as if you wanted me to 
take care of you awhile, and bring back some 
color to your pale cheeks. W T hat about this 
boy? Is it the same queer little fellow who 
chose midnight to play his pranks in once 


J . COLE 


81 


before? I’m not often deceived in a face, 
and I thought his was an honest one. I ” 

“So it was,” I interrupted; “don’t say a 
word until I’ve told you all, and you will ” 

I had scarcely begun speaking, when a 
succession of the most fearful screams arose 
from downstairs, each rising louder and 
louder, in the extreme of terror. My sister, 
who had gone to her room, rushed down to 
me; the girls, in their dressing-gowns, just as 
they were preparing for bed, followed, calling 
out, “Auntie! O, Auntie! what is it? Who 
is screaming? What can be the matter?” 
Hardly were they in the room when Mary 
rushed in, ghastly, her eyes staring, and, in a 
voice hoarse with terror, gasped out, “Come! 
come! he’s found! he’s murdered! I saw 
him. He’s lying in the cellar, with his throat 
cut. Oh, it’s horrible!” Then she began 
to scream again. 

The Doctor tried to hold me back; but I 
broke from him, and ran downstairs, where 
I could find no one; all was dark in the 
kitchens, but there was a light in the area. 


82 J . COLE 

and I was soon there, followed by Doctor 
Loring. 

By the open cellar door stood Mrs. Wilson, 
and the cabman with her. Directly she saw 
me, she called out, 4 ‘Oh, dear mistress, don’t 
you come here; it’s not a sight for you. 
Take her away, Doctor Loring, she mustn’t 
see it.” 

“ What is it ? ” I cried ; “ Mary says it’s ” 

I could not say the words, but seizing the 
candle from Mrs. Wilson’s hand, I went into 
the cellar. 

Dr. Loring was close to me, with more 
light, by the aid of which we beheld, in the 
far corner, facing us, what seemed to be a 
bundle of blankets, from which protruded a 
head, a horrible red stream surrounding it, 
and flowing, as it were, from the open mouth. 
One second brought me close. It was Joe — 
Joe, with his poor limbs bound with cruel 
ropes; in his mouth for a gag they had forced 
one of those bright red socks he would always 
wear. Thank God, it was only that red sock, 
and not the horrible red stream I had feared. 























































- 




















































J . C O L E 83 

He was dead, of course; but not such a fearful 
death as that. 

The Doctor soon pulled the horrid gag from 
his mouth, and the good-natured cabman, 
who evidently felt for us, helped to cut the 
ropes, and lifted up the poor, cold little form. 

As they lifted him, something that was in 
the blankets fell heavily to the ground. It 
was poor Bogie’s dead body, stabbed in many 
places, each wound enough to have let out 
the poor dumb creature’s life. 

By this time help had arrived, and once 
more the police took possession of us, as it 
were. 

Of course, now everything was explained. 
The burglars had evidently entered Joe’s 
room, and Bogie, being in his arms, had 
barked, and wakened him. A few blows 
had soon silenced poor Bogie, and a gag and 
cords had done the same for Joe. 

When the man saw me from the kitchen 
window he must have known that help would 
soon come, and to prevent Joe’s giving in- 
formation too soon they had hastily seized 


84 


J . COLE 


him, bedclothes and all, and put him into that 
cellar, to starve, if he were not discovered. 

Perhaps they did not really mean to kill the 
poor child, and if we had been in the habit of 
using that cellar we might have found him in 
a few hours or less : but, unfortunately, it was 
a place we never used; it reached far under 
the street, and was too large for our needs. 
Our coal-cellar was a much smaller one, 
inside the scullery. The door of poor Joe’s 
prison closed with a common latch. Had 
there been any doubt in the detective’s mind 
as to Joe’s guilt he might have taken more 
trouble, and looked for him, even there; but 
from the first everyone but ourselves had been 
sure Joe had escaped with the burglars, so 
the cellar remained unsearched. 

Mrs. Wilson, wishing to spare me the smell 
of the apples, thought that cellar, being outside 
the house, a very suitable place for them. 
On opening the door she had caught sight of 
something in the distant corner, and sent 
Mary to see what it was. Then arose those 
fearful shrieks we had heard, and Mary had 


J. COLE 85 

rushed out of the cellar half mad with 
fright. 

In less time that it has taken me to relate 
this, Joe was laid on the rug before the draw- 
ing-room fire, and I summoned courage to 
look on the changed face. 

Could that be Joe — so white, so drawn, 
so still ? 

Dr. Loring was kneeling by the little form, 
chafing and straightening the poor stiffened 
arms, so bent with their cruel pinioning be- 
hind the shoulders. 

“Doctor,” I said, “why do you do any 
more ? Nothing can bring back the poor 
fellow, murdered while doing his duty.” 
Then I, too, knelt down, and took the poor 
cold hands in mine. 

“Oh, my poor child!” I cried, “my brave 
little heart; who dared say you were false? 
Let those who doubted look at you now, with 
dry eyes, if they can.” 

“My dear,” said Dr. Loring, suddenly, 

“have you always hot- water in your battl- 
es 5 J 

room ? 


86 


J . COLE 


“Yes, Doctor,” I said, “yes. Why do you 
ask ? Do you mean — is it possible — there 
is life?” I took Joe’s little head in my arms, 
and forgot he was only a servant, only a poor, 
common little page-boy. I only know I 
pressed him to my breast, and called him by 
all the endearing names I used to call my own 
children in after years, when God gave me 
some, and kissed his white forehead in my 
joy at the blessed ray of hope. 

No want of willing arms to carry Joe up- 
stairs. Mrs. Wilson had the bath filled 
before Dr. Loring was in the room with his 
light burthen. 

“A few drops of brandy, to moisten the 
lips, first of all,” said the good doctor, “then 
the bath and gentle friction; there is certainly 
life in him.” 

Now my good sister’s clever nursing proved 
invaluable. All that night we fought every 
inch of ground, as it were, with our grim 
enemy; the dear, good doctor never relaxing 
in his efforts to bring back life to the cramped 
limbs. The burglars had unknowingly helped 


J . COLE 


87 


to keep alight Joe’s feeble spark of life by 
wrapping the blankets round him; they had 
meant, no doubt, to stifle any sound he might 
make, but by keeping him from actual con- 
tact with the stone floor, and protecting him 
from the cold, they had given him his little 
chance of life. 

Oh, how I blessed that kind thought of Dr. 
Loring’s to bring me a barrel of apples ! Had 
there been no occasion to open the cellar-door, 
Joe would have died before another morning 
had dawned, — died ! starved ! What a horrible 
death! And to know that within a few steps 
were food, warmth, and kind hearts — hearts 
even then saddened by his absence, and 
grieving for him. What hours of agony he 
must have passed in the cold and darkness, 
hearing the footsteps of passers-by above his 
living tomb, and feeling the pangs of hunger 
and thirst. What weeks those two days must 
have seemed to him in their fearful darkness, 
until insensibility mercifully came to his aid, 
and hushed his senses to oblivion. 

Morning was far advanced when, at last. 


88 


J . COLE 


Joe’s eyelids began to flutter, and his eyes 
opened a very little, to close again imme- 
diately; even the subdued light we had let 
into the room being too much for him to bear 
after so long a darkness; but in that brief 
glance he had recognized me, and seeing his 
lips move, I bent my head close to them. 

Only a faint murmuring came, but I dis- 
tinguished the words: 

“Missis, I couldn’t ’elp it! Forgive me. 
Say ‘Our Father.’” 

I knelt down, and as well as I could for the 
tears that almost choked me, repeated that 
most simple, yet all-satisfying petition to the 
Throne of Grace. 

Meanwhile Dr. Loring held Joe’s wrist, 
and my sister, at a sign from him, put a 
few drops of nourishment between the pale 
lips. 

“My dear,” at length said the doctor, “did 
you say the boy’s brother was in London?” 

“Yes,” I replied, “but I have no address, 
as I expect him here this morning.” 

“That is well; he may be in time,” 

LOFCu 


J . COLE 


89 


“In time?” I repeated; “in time for what? 
Is he dying ? Can nothing be done ?” 

He looked again with moistened eyes on 
the little white face, and said sadly : 

“I fear not, but the sight of this brother for 
whom he seems to have such a strong love 
may rouse him for a while. As it is, he is 
sinking fast. I can do no more; he is beyond 
human skill ; but love and God’s help may yet 
save him. Poor little fellow, he has done his 
duty nobly, and even to die doing that is an 
enviable fate; but we want such boys as this 
to live, to show others the way.” 

There was a slight sound at the room door, 
and on turning round I saw Dick — Dick 
with wild, dumb entreaty in his eyes. 

I pointed to the bed, and with a whispered 
“Hush!” beckoned him to enter. 

The shock of seeing his loved little lad so 
changed was too much for even his man’s 
courage, for with a cry he in vain strove to 
smother he sunk on his knees with his face 
hidden in his hands. 

Only for a moment did he let his grief over- 


90 


J . COLE 


come him; then rising, he took Joe’s little 
form in his arms, and in a voice to which love 
gave the softest and gentlest tones said: 

44 Joe, lad! Joe, little chap! here’s Dick. 
Look at poor old Dick. Don’t you know 
him ? Don’t you go away without sayin’ good- 
bye to Dick wot loves you.” 

Slowly a little fluttering smile parted the 
lips, and the blue eyes unclosed once more. 
“Dick!” he gasped; “I wanted to tell you, 
Dick, but — I — can’t. I — ain’t — forgot. 
4 Own — up — to — it — wotever’ — I minded 
it all. Kiss me — Dick. God — bless — 
missis. Dick — take me — home — to — 
mother!” 

And with a gentle sigh, in the arms of the 
brother he loved, Joe fell into a deep sleep, a 
sleep from which we all feared he would no 
more awake on earth, and we watched him, 
fearing almost to move. 

Dick held him in his arms all that morning. 
Presently towards noon Dr. Loring took the 
little wrist and found the pulse still feebly 
beating; a smile lit up his good, kind 


J . C O L E 91 

face, and he whispered to me, “There is 
hope.” 

“Thank God!” I replied, and ran away 
into my own room to sob out grateful prayers 
of thanksgiving to heaven for having spared 
the life so nearly lost to us. 

When I went back, Joe had just begun to 
awaken; he was looking up into his beloved 
Dick’s face, murmuring — “Why, it’s Dick. 
Are you a-cryin’ about me , Dick ? Don’t cry 
— I’m all right — I’m only so tired.” 

Having drank some wine the doctor had 
ordered should be given him, he nestled close 
to Dick’s breast, and again fell into a sweet 
sleep, a better, life-giving sleep this time, for 
the faint color came to his pale little lips, and 
presently Dick laid him down on the pillows, 
and rested his own weary arms. He would 
not move from Joe’s side for fear he might 
wake and miss him, but for many hours our 
little fellow slept peacefully, and so gradually 
came back to life. 

We never quite knew the particulars of the 
robbery, for when Joe was well enough to 


92 


J . COLE 


talk we avoided speaking of it. Dr. Loring 
said, “The boy only partly remembers it, like 
a dream, and it is better he should forget it 
altogether; he will do so as he gets stronger. 
Send him home to his mother for awhile, and 
if he returns to you, let it be to the country 
house where there is nothing to remind him 
of all this.” 

Joe did get strong, and came back to us, 
but no longer as a page-boy; he was under- 
gardener, and his time was spent among his 
favorite flowers and pet animals, until one 
day Dick wrote to say his father had bought 
more land to be laid out in gardens, and if 
Joe could be spared he and Dick could work 
together, and in time set up for themselves in 
the business. 

So Joe left us, but not to forget us, or to be 
forgotten. On each anniversary of my birth- 
day, I find a bunch of magnificent roses on 
my breakfast table — “with J. and R. Cole’s 
respectful duty,” and I know the sender is a 
fine strong young market-gardener; but some- 
times I look back down the years, and instead 


J . COLE 


93 


of the lovely roses, and the big, healthy giver, 
I seem to see a dusty faded bunch of wild 
flowers, held towards me by the little hot hand 
of a tired child with large blue eyes, and I 
hear a timid voice say — “Please ? m, it’s 
J. Cole; and I’ve come to live with yer!” 
















































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